


Our House of Stone

by sturmfreii



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturmfreii/pseuds/sturmfreii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reim remembers the house of stone he built so carefully by hand; at first, all by himself, in a room with a rejected man who clawed at his eye until he cried. Then, those hands that once clawed against flesh and bone joined him in building this little house of stone. Now, Reim stands and wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our House of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> the song that inspired this little ficlet was "To Build a Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra (aka prompt 1 for ph-fanfest on Tumblr. originally posted to my writing blog). listen to the song while reading for maximum emotion.

Calloused hands brush against a dust covered table, feeling the soft yet filthy residue on his hands. Everything in personal belonging was already vacated from the room; yet it still felt as if it was all in it’s proper place. Liam paces around the room with a frightening sort of caution; as if he’d get caught the moment he laid his hand on something, or stood in one place for too long. Such a place felt sacred, despite it’s sporadic use over the years. Even if erratic in usage…Liam realized that this was a place he didn’t feel alone. 

From the start, it’s given him comfort. He casts his eyes over the dusty, unused room as he finally stands at it’s center. Here was the little dining table he, Sharon and Xerxes all had little tea parties at. There was the bed that no matter what, Xerxes always left the in disarray. At first, he recalls, it was due to the nightmares and the sheets constricting his body; now it was out of pure laziness. Oh, pardon— _then_.  A heaviness constricts the male’s chest, but he continues to look about himself, clutching the papers to his chest and adjusting his glasses. 

Here was the windowsill he first saw Xerxes so wounded and weak; the day he watched the man try to claw out his eyes and roar at anyone who came too close. His hand began to ache at the thought of where he was so violently rejected by the reborn Kevin Regnard. In those days, he had pity—in those days, he wished to mend wounds that were still bleeding fresh in more ways than one. 

So he started to build. A house made out of stone, with his own two hands—just for the two of them. He used each brick of love and care for the base, working his way up and around with patience as his gauze. His hands grew worn, and at times, he wanted to take the bricks and smash them—tear down this project of his. Yet, Liam always picked the bricks back up, and continued to build. He left a window to see the world out of, he made hard wood floors that aged with time and a roof that sheltered from some of the greatest storms. 

No matter how hard he worked, Xerxes had always watched; that one red eye keenly resting on him in the beginning of it all. He watched in mute silence, almost baffled at how hard Liam had pushed himself just to make the base. It wasn’t until he had built that first crucial layer that he realized Xerxes was already helping him place the bricks; in his own little way. That realization had made him smile—to a point where he realized that this was well worth digging his hands into filth and mud. It made him realize that it was well worth building a house of stone in a broken land like this. 

All the tables and chairs were worn by the dust, that same little window seat staring back at him as Liam came to his senses. That’s right…that house of stone he took so long to build had begun to crumble. Not from an outside force, but from missing half the structure. It was gone, ripped away and eroded as the months ticked by in silence. Xerxes was dead, and his contribution to this stone little house of theirs had begun to fade away into nothing—and their creation of dedication and hope had begun to crumble. 

 _I have to leave._  Liam twirled the locket around his neck, eyes closing, _I have to leave, it’s time to end this and just let it turn to dust just like the rest of this place._  So he moves, swiftly back across the threshold of their stone house to exit the room.  _Even if it’s caked in dust…and I know he’s not in there, I don’t feel alone._  Never will he feel alone, for he still feels that warm and wakened arm wrapped around his shoulder clinging to him. Gently, he raises a hand to touch that same shoulder, gaze lowering to the ground as he moves. 

Gently, he breathes in, stepping out of the manor into the gardens with haste. All the flowers were in bloom in the sweet summer air, filling it with a mix of fragrances to lull his senses into nostalgia. He continues to move, to leave one dust filled room in his crumbling stone house to enter another one. A large oak tree came into view on the Rainsworth property, and in the summer light, he swears he can still see them. Shelly and Sharon laughing together, placing flowers in Xerxes’ hair as he slept in Shelly’s lap. 

By the time he reaches the base, he no longer sees them. With a dull thump, he sets the papers down where Sharon had usually sat, and reached up towards the branches above him. There was one time, deep in the back of his mind, that Sharon had climbed up the tree while he and Xerxes made their way to meet her; she had gotten stuck at the top, crying for someone to get her. Against his palms, the bark still feels the same as it did then—rough, cracked, and old with age. It digs into his palms, and he follows the same path upwards he did then. 

Sharon had begun to smile when he climbed up to hoist her down, he remembers how genuine it looked despite his scolding her for going up so high. What he remembers most was the branches below him; how they creaked and groaned to the weight of Xerxes Break. Why he climbed up there too, Liam can’t recall, but it’s the wind he remembers most. A wind had blown up, causing the limbs to rattle and the leaves to flutter about like bird wings when Xerxes’ arm had clasped so tightly onto his it left a mark on the skin. 

It was the first time Xerxes had grabbed onto him with trust. Light filtered through the leaves around him, and Liam takes a moment to rest his back against the rough bark of the oak wood. Yes…he remembers, how Xerxes had grasped on so tightly that Liam nearly wanted to hit him for it. Though, he remembers clinging to the tree just as tightly as Xerxes held on. He remembers taking that strange moment of trust and molding it into his bricks, his mortar and his wood as he built that house of stone. 

_I have to go._

With a heaving sigh, Liam begins to climb down the tree, no longer seeing smiling children and wounded warriors. Now, as his feet touches the ground, he sees a woman in black approaching him with blood-shot eyes and pale hands. “Liam.” Sharon crosses the yard to meet him, her hands soong clasping onto his own as she tries her best to compose herself. “We’re…going to be late to the funeral.” 

 _I know that._  the man smiles softly towards her, picking up his papers and pressing them against his chest,  _I know. It’s time to leave and turn to dust._


End file.
